When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
When the line went silent, the fog only grew thicker, filling your lungs like cotton. No matter how much you tried to run, no matter how far you thought you got, it seemed your feet took you in circles.
Alone within this growing cloud, more devices dropped in to cover larger ground. One thing stood out, though... heavy footsteps, filtered breathing and the loading of guns. That would be Andres' men.
It became clear when one pointed their gun to your head, talking into the walkie talkie just long enough for your fallen figure to kick up. Bullets fired into the museum causing a few rounds to hit through the soldier.
Clawing for his gun or mask, it was no use doing so. The loose knife came in handy, though, as it ripped through the fabric of your long dress. Then, just as you dropped the weapon, you went into fight or flight. "Y/n," Sherlock grabbed your arm.
"Get off!" You try to get away from the detective, whose grip only tightens.
"If you don't want to get kidnapped or die, maybe even both, you need to come with me," he looked at you with urgency. "Y/n, I need you to trust me."
He held his coat up against his face, providing you his scarf. Hand held out, it was the subtle gloss along each iris that made you give in. Not a word, only a nod. He took you by the hand, rushing you through a back door, hidden between fresh shrubs along the sandstone walls.
"Mind explaining to me what the hell is going on out there?" He pushes open door after door until it revealed a long empty hall, John waiting at the end just catching his breath.
"Some guy I double-crossed years ago found me and is ready to rip my spine out," you fall to your knees from the lack of energy. "Shit-" fiddling with your heel straps, you toss them to Sherlock who you used as support once you stood.
"You're bleeding," he pushes you against the wall almost immediately.
"I'm fine," you whisper out, ignoring the gash spreading crimson down your leg.
"Sherlock. Now." John coughs out, pointing to the car he was able to kick start to life. "Get in. Not a word," he snarls your way, fury flowing through his system.
~~~
"Not a hospital," John looked in the rear view mirror, "after the shit you pulled I know bloody well the entire nation will recognise you,"
"The plan was the entire world," you lean against the car door, trying to hide the pain increasing every second.
John took no amusement from this, "I'll stop by the nearest shop, we can park somewhere... no way in hell I'm letting you go back to 221B,"
"Your house is no good either, whoever you screwed over would have surely found it,"
"No, no, we need to go there," you whisper, pleadingly. This was a side John thought was an act, but Sherlock couldn't ignore. "Please," you try to sit up but groan. "I swear I'll give you ten million quid... just drive me home- there's even a medical kit,"
"We can't-"
"Five minutes... please,"
~~~
Too late. By the time you had driven down the street, Sherlock had to duck your head down at the sight of vans rolling into your driveway.
"No, no," you whisper, seeing them raid the place. "We need to go there- Sherlock, please," fumbling for his hand, the tight squeeze was breaking through every wall he built.
"We can't," it hurt to say, seeing you so distraught over something... what was so important?
"What could possibly be worth dying over?" John looks in the rear view, driving back to the city.
"I-" you couldn't tell them, it was almost too embarrassing. "Never mind," curling into yourself, you started to think over everything. Where did you go wrong?
~~~
"Get it over with," you gulp down the hard whiskey to numb the pain, splashing it on the gash to clean it. "Fuck-" biting against the belt Sherlock provided you, the leather stopping your teeth from gnashing against each other while John stitched the skin.
"Hold still," he gave no mind to your state, just getting through it as if you were a mannequin.
"Thank you," Sherlock hung up, glancing over to you. "We found somewhere for you to stay," he had gone to the nearest department store just as it closed, grabbing as many supplies.
"What's that?" you hiss out from the sting.
"Clothes," he drops two of three bags by you once John had wrapped your leg with gauze. "Get changed," he says while his friend went back into the store for some food.
"All my size?" you look at the tags, then grabbing the scissors to tear away your dress.
"Yes, those are for John and I," he averted his eyes when fabric fell from your body.
"Virgin," you mutter, grabbing a pair a sweatpants and a small jumper.
"I'm not- just get changed," he finally meets your eye. "There's other... essentials too," he dismisses himself making you chuckle, holding up underwear.
"Skimpy choice, Holmes," you hum.
"They didn't have any other-! Oh shut up," he storms into the store.
~~~
"Where are we going?" rummaging through the bag for some food, the crisp packet in your hand crinkled and crunched as you pried it open.
"A safe house," Sherlock had taken over as the designated driver, letting John snooze off in the back seat.
You huff softly at the lack of information, but don't push on any more. Food felt like heaven, the taste of the crisps relaxing you. That's what forgetting to eat does to you. Such a high stake event, the grand finale, you were stressed beyond belief and had to correct every minor detail you didn't see fit.
"Why are you helping me?" That question crossed your mind suddenly. After all you did, after what you said, the lies you told, why was he helping?
"Because you're useful and know more about things that Moriarty may not," Sherlock bluffs through his teeth.
In your state of energy, you didn't catch this, instead just following it up with "you can make Jim talk by pointing a gun to Anna's head. How are you planning to make me talk?" At that moment you didn't realise the weight of your words, the memory of that wretched phone call just a blur.
"I don't..." he lets a car pass by, turning off towards the outskirts of London. "You are a good person, Y/n, if the world was ending you'd do the right thing and help us,"
"And what if I caused Armageddon?" you muse, sipping at the whiskey a little.
"Well, then I'd go to Moriarty and Anna with that gun, now wouldn't I?" he jokes. "Get some rest, it's going to be a while,"
~~~
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